Back again at the end of a long trip. I’d started the journey off in Thailand’s capital city, spent some time up north in Chiang Mai, then too short of a time in Penang, Malaysia (Thank You Air Asia!) and had just finished up a few days in Bali. It was nice to be back again to what I consider my second home city: The City of Angels, The Big Mango, Bangkok.

While in Penang, I made a new friend, a guy I’d met on-line who ended up visiting Penang at the same time as me. We’d hit it off well and spent an incredibly wonderful day together touring the streets (and graveyard) of Georgetown. Hence the storyline title of this series of posts. Our day together in that World Heritage Site city came after an unexpected bout of morning sex. As luck would have it, my new friend, Damen, was going to make his first visit to Bangkok and we had plans to spend some of his time in the city together.

Damen is from Sumatra. A tall, studly, Indonesian. Well-educated, and a lot of fun to be with. He has a boyfriend, an Italian gentleman who is both closeted and married. The other half was in Bangkok for business, and he’d invited Damen to come up for a few days. Damen didn’t like the idea of spending his time hanging out at the hotel waiting for the boyfriend to finish work, so he planned on spending his free time with me instead.

Coming from a big city in America, Bangkok comes across as a third world town. Yup, it is big, and bustling, but still . . . Coming from a small town on an Indonesian island, Bangkok is a huge metropolis teeming with people and traffic. It can be a bit much. And a bit confusing. The plan was for Damen to meet me at the BTS station by my hotel. His was on the same line. An hour after the time we were to meet, he called from the Siam station in a panic. He was lost. He’d gone the wrong way. I told him to hang on and I’d come meet him. Walking down the stairway I spotted him in the crowd immediately. He was still in a bit of a panic, scanning the crowds looking for me. I apologized to him; I’d forgotten that he’d started his world tour on a dilapidated overcrowded ferry boat chugging its way across the Indian Sea. I had not considered what the frantic pace of Bangkok would do to his rural mindset. Disaster averted, panic calmed, we were both happy to see each other again.

Both of us are camera buffs. That’s a good match. Hanging with someone who isn’t into photography can be a drag. For both of you. We’d spent our time in Georgetown snapping our little hearts out and comparing shots. Digital cameras are great. No more waiting for film to be developed to see how your shots turn out. Damen wanted to see the Grand Palace in Bangkok. Though I‘ve been there too many times to count, the area is flooded with monks. So I’m always ready to go again. I love taking shots of monks.

As much as I liked Damen’s hot body, I liked his sense of humor even more. Slightly warped. Very sarcastic. A perfect match. Didn’t hurt that he was a bit looney, to boot. When we got to the Grand Palace area, he quickly got into the whole monk shot thing, but added a new twist. He wanted to be in each shot. Not in the ‘go up and ask if you can have your picture taken with him’ style of shooting. Nope, Damen wanted to surreptitiously approach an unsuspecting monk and then strike a pose. Monk Shot! met Monk Attack!

We never did manage to get into the Grand Palace. But we did do Wat Pho. And then scammed a scammer by taking a 25 baht tuk tuk ride to a few wats on our way to a jewelry store. I’d explained the scam the scammer game twist to him and he was all for taking on a tuk tuk driver. That there was an interesting cemetery attached to one of the wats on the tour was gravy.

We finished off the day at one of my regular haunts, Maxim’s on Sukhumvit 11. As many times as I’ve been to the restaurant, I’ve never set foot inside. They have half a dozen tables out front; it’s a great place to sit and watch the world go by. We had an early dinner. He told me about his trip to KL. I told him about mine to Bali. His boyfriend called a thousand times. He was still working, running late. He suggested Damen order room service, thinking the boy had spent the day waiting in their hotel room. Damen didn’t correct his misconception.

The boyfriend kept calling, putting off the time he’d be back again and again. Some calls Damen answered, rolling his eyes. Others when he saw who was calling he’d scowl and not answer. All was not rosy in their relationship. Then my phone rang. It was Noom. Noom and I had just met at the beginning of this trip. He wanted to know where I was and if I was coming to his bar that night. I told him what we were doing and that I didn’t know about visiting as I was with a friend. When I hung up Damen’s phone rang again. We both laughed.

Talking about being gay is an obvious topic for two gay guys from different parts of the world. We’d talked a bit about our experiences when we were in Penang together. In Bangkok, Damen more fully explained his take on being gay. He had no problem with being gay, feeling it was but a natural part of him. However, he separated that part from the rest of his life. He felt when you were in your home, room, or hotel room, that was the time to be gay. Outside the door, no gaiety allowed. Not that he was reigning himself in, the gay thing was just left locked away when he walked out the door. I thought it was an interesting way for someone to deal with the life-style, especially since he lived in an extremely homophobic society. And it seemed to work for him. It certainly explained the gay explosion that had occurred in our hotel room back in Penang.

I think it also had a lot to do with why I enjoyed his company so much that day. We’d done the town and it had been like I was out with one of my straight buddies. No sexual tension whatsoever. Just a comfortable enjoyment, sharing our time seeing the sights that Bangkok had to offer.

But non-gay Damen was about to have to deal with gay Damen. Outside. In public. Unexpectedly – though I should have known – Noom showed up. Looking like a two dollar whore. I’ve never seen him dressed like that before or since. For some reason he’d decided to wear a pair of jeans that rode quite low. Like pubic hair line low. Maybe a bit lower. And his shirt for the evening disappeared in the opposite direction, leaving a good foot or more of beefed up, taught, naked, dusky Thai skin. With a big smile on his face, he gave me a deep kiss. Damen was floored. I think close to his worst nightmare had just appeared.

It got worse. I introduced Noom to Damen. Damen flinched, thinking Noom was going to kiss him, too. Instead he shook hands, looked Damen in the eye for a minute, and foretelling a judgemental act Noom would perform again and again in the years to come, said, “You gay.”

The boy’s whole world collapsed. But I have to give him credit, he took the comment in stride, manned up, and sat down for what was sure to be an uncomfortable evening. But he was also fascinated with Noom. And Noom’s ‘bidness’. He grilled him on what he did for a living, trying to fit Noom’s world into the confines of his. While Damen’s English is pretty good, Noom’s is heavily accented, peppered with bar boy speak, and a bit wanting too start. So Damen would ask Noom a question and I’d repeat it in English Noom could understand. He’d answer in his version of English, and I’d translate his English into English Damen could understand. That’s what happens when an American, Indonesian, and Thai settle down for a talk.

Noom wanted us both to come to his bar. The idea of walking into a gay bar petrified Damen. The idea of walking into a gay bar full of naked men excited him. But his ‘no gay outside’ rule won out. He couldn’t bring himself to brave that trip. Disappointed, Noom had to scurry off to get to work before it was too late and he was fined for being tardy. Damen’s boyfriend called once again. Still AWOL, Damen was irked and either ready for some payback, or still a bit excited over Noom’s description of his bar and job, he turned to me and asked, “Where’s your hotel?”

I’d kinda thought our time in Penang had been a one off. In Bangkok, not only was his boyfriend in residence, but we’d not so much as flirted during our time together. And he’d just met Noom. But I’m a slut. When a hot guy invites himself back to my hotel room, I don’t complain. I’d experienced the reticent Damen our first night together, who’d done nothing more than curl up on my lap. And I’d experienced the playfully sexual Damen who woke me that next morning in Penang with a blowjob. When we got back to my hotel room in Bangkok, a third Damen took stage.

Revenge sex? Or just the horny state typical of a guy in his mid twenties? Dunno. But he was hard as a rock pressing himself against me after barely getting into the room. His mouth was all tongue kissing me deeply, pulling back only to yank his shirt over his head. Completely nude within seconds, the sun and blinds on the window conspired to send erotic shadows playing across his naked body. He laid back on the bed, the pleading look in his eyes telling me exactly what he wanted. Being the gentleman that I am, I complied.

But a bed is no place for revenge sex. So I lifted him up and then bent him over the table, plowing into him unmercifully. He didn’t last long, cumming quickly, spraying copiously across the table, the chair, the floor, and splattering the mirror hanging on the wall. We fell back onto the bed sated, exhausted, our bodies intertwined, sweat glistening as we fought to catch our breath. Just when I was about to suggest a second round, his phone rang again. The boyfriend. He was finally done with work and headed back to the hotel. Damen’s eyes grew wide as the call progressed and he quickly threw on his clothes rushing back to his hotel quicker than he had come.

I felt bad that the boyfriend would not get to experience that gusher. And also felt bad that the housekeeper would have to spend extra time in cleaning my room the next morning. I hoped Damen had made it back to his room in time to look suitably board and suitably pissed; that the boyfriend was tired enough from a long day at work to not notice the flush to Damen’s skin; weary enough in age his senses would not pick up the accompanying smell of sex. I added Revenge Sex Damen to his growing list of personalities, took a short nap, and headed out to see Noom at his bar.

Damen called the next morning while waiting for his flight home. He’d made it back to his hotel in time and used his false anger over the boyfriend’s lateness to avoid a round of sex he no longer needed. Over the next few months we emailed back and forth and chatted on-line when time allowed. Our karma in having coinciding schedules continued to be blessed. On my next trip I was headed back to Bali again at the same time he had a break from school. We coordinated flights, met once again, and I got to experience a fourth version of Damen on the beach in Bali. But that’s another tale . . .

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